It's April once again in all its beauty

Google image

 

Now that taxes are done (but not filed) and before going to the mountains in a while, I intend to sever the upper-arm-of-a-body-builder-sized trunk of the vining wisteria in the north yard. Why? Two reasons. Or more. It hasn’t bloomed well recently. AND, I learned lately that it is on the non-native, invasive plant list. PLUS, there are crape myrtles in the mix that DO bloom. Since I have a large yard, I had rather have the bush variety of wisteria that’s in bloom now.

Crossvine

 



The vine growing on and around the mailbox is blooming now, though not in the floridness of the photo (Google images). This is the second year it’s had flowers. The bud is a maroon capsule. On the underside is a hole with a white stamen that reminds me of a jack-in-the-pulpit. When it blooms, the flower has a deep throat of maroon and a yellow flange or collar. It does spread. So is it also on the "bad plants" list?

 

Another blooming plant in full array is what I have been calling the Yellow Rose of Texas, but the real name is Double Kerria Japonica, according to Bing. Recently, I cut out all the dead stalks and dead parts at the ends of stems and trimmed the privet, saw briars and honeysuckle from around it. Talk about invasive—honeysuckle and privet are also on the list of what NOT to plant.

Oh, oh, oh! Two pink buds are showing on the newly-planted Knock-Out rose! White and purple iris are blooming along the edges of the yard and around the oak stump. The dianthus that I’ve planted still look sprightly. Must get the others in the ground ASAP.

The five houseplants I took to the front porch seem to have weathered the back-and-forth nightly temps okay. Three ferns, a Chinese evergreen and a begonia look as healthy as when I moved them out. Now, for the others. Soon—and very soon.

I’m in the process of turning the hydrangea area north of the porch into a full-fledged bed. After trimming back the old stalks, raking the leaves and pulling out the English ivy (another non-native, invasive plant!) I scattered a layer of pea gravel and added a piece of driftwood. More dianthus will edge that bed and I’ll put some lantana between the small and the large plants. Hydrangeas can be rooted easily with a rock holding down a stalk at ground level until a new plant appears.

The ten-year-old azaleas (gifts after Mom’s death) have bloomed spottily this spring. The reason(s)? I didn’t deadhead last fall’s blossoms, and (hand over eyes) I didn’t feed them. But they ARE beginning to pink up.

Weren’t the lorapetalums gorgeous this spring? I’ve never seen the bushes so beautiful. And now, they are ready for the pruning blade.

I have pulled out handfuls of oxalis and yarrow plants—two other invasive-but-not-on-any-list I’ve seen—from the front beds. They are overtaking the cone flowers, the coreopsis and the Easter lilies. Janet Carson calls oxalis a weed, but I first remember seeing it in a hanging pot at Grandma Flossie’s. Like wild violets and privet, its bulbs somehow travel underground and the pink flowers pop up at the oddest places.

oxalis

 



Thrift and/ or creeping phlox is also bright and full right now. And my two-year old camellia bush from the Florida panhandle had two blossoms and a bud! Small ones, but still. . .

April is National Poetry Month, so indulge me further, please: "from the roadside trees/ a windblown pollen drift/ covering my car." (from in the rainy dark, 2005)

I trust that you will enjoy April in all its beauty.

















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More about all things April

by Pat Laster

Are you still exulting in the exuberance of Easter? If that feeling was not caused by the extra-ordinary pomp of a worship service, perhaps it came later over a family gathering—like ours—or an afternoon with friends. Hallelujah! Christ is risen!
As I promised last week, I discovered from my uncle John Pelton that the plant with the maroon capsule buds and the trumpet-shaped blooms is Cross-Vine. He only had a small picture on my cell phone to go by, but he gave me three possibilities: cross vine, trumpet creeper and trumpet honeysuckle. Pictures on the Internet proved that my first-time-to-bloom vine is a Cross Vine.
Last week’s anagram for April is Pilar, a main character in Hemingway’s For Whom the Bell Tolls.
One morning this week, I watched out the south window as a male robin commandeered the freshly-filled birdbath. He stood his ground, er rim. A female cardinal flew up faced him off by staying on the other side. Soon, a brown thrasher joined the two. As if waiting for the robin to leave, the thrasher swooped down and ate from the grass. When it flew back to the rim, the cardinal left and so did the thrasher. Meanwhile and afterwards, the robin availed himself of a good bath. In the background, an adult squirrel nosed around in the grass for who-knows-what?
The narcissus are blooming. Since they are later than the daffodils, tulips and jonquils, I always wonder if they are even going to bloom. Just when I decide they are too crowded, up pops the first white blossom and then another. Soon, there are enough of the heavily-scented, long-stemmed whites to snap off, take inside and slide down into a water-filled, lead-crystal vase. Along with Easter lilies and hyacinths, these flowers can be enjoyed by sight and smells.
A couple of tiger swallowtail butterflies have appeared this week, stopping at the azaleas and the dianthus.
April is Parkinson’s Awareness Month. It is also National Soy Foods Month. According to Rosemary Boggs, ADG, three companies that make soy products are Soyjoy, Morningstar Farms and WestSoy.
April is also the peak of tornado season that runs from March to June. (ADG wire)
The April poem for this week (in celebration of National Poetry Month) was written by Langston Hughes, who can also be heard reading it on the Internet. I found it in a severely-yellowed, Scholastic paperback book --bought for thirty-five cents by my first-grade-teacher (now deceased) mother, Anna Pearl Couch-- the Arrow Book of Poetry – poems selected by Ann McGovern and published in 1965.

“April Rain Song"

Let the rain kiss you.
Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops.
Let the rain sing you a lullaby.

The rain makes still pools on the sidewalk.
The rain makes running pools in the gutter.
The rain plays a little sleep-song on our roof at night

And I love the rain. – Langston Hughes.

So do I.
written 2012 by Pat Laster dba lovepat press